


The American Dream

by flowerflood



Series: Forevermore [2]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Y'all this isn't even really porn what the fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25368331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerflood/pseuds/flowerflood
Summary: Alexander is with John and a realisation hits him.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Series: Forevermore [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665559
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	The American Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, the Hamilton fandom is such horseshit that i don't even want to write for it anymore. Like, some people apparently don't understand that what we write here is obviously fictionalisation, not what we percive as the reality of what happened. We need to keep fictionalisation and historical shit seperate, not to mention the musical - a further fictionalisation. Oof.
> 
> Head empty no thoughts it's a late Saturday night.

“You've got- God damn it, Alexander, you-” 

John tugs on Alexander's hair to get his attention and truly, the other glances up from his boyfriend's, well, not really boyfriend's, cock, although he doesn't stop licking the head and slowly stroking him. No matter where he looks, John knows he has Alex's attention; but he wants him to look at him.

“Ten minutes, maybe fifteen. Your foster pa-”

Apparently, Alexander doesn't agree with talking about his new, overprotective foster parents now, because he promptly shuts John up by swallowing his dick down, eyes falling closed as he moves down, slowly.

This is something he knows, something he's comfortable with. It's probably not a good thing that he's so comfortable sucking dick at only seventeen, that this isn't the first time by far that he's done this. The light it shines on his blurry past on the streets of New York, shortly after his arrival there at the tender age of twelve, is a lot of things, but agreeable isn't one of them.

Alexander doesn't groan, doesn't gag, not even when John groans above him and tugs on red hair, pulling him further down. His gag reflex is barely even a thing anymore, to be honest, and Alexander would rather have it back than remember what he'd gone through to lose it. 

Older men in back alleys, tears streaming down freckled cheeks of a boy, _a kid_ , too young to be doing this. His knees hurt so bad after spending so much time on the cold, hard concrete. He still remembers the ache perfectly. 

However, he barely ever finds himself thinking of these moments when he's with John, because John is different. John isn't an older man in a back alley, John is someone he loves. If he loves him as a best friend, boyfriend or soulmate - whatever, he was seventeen, he doesn't need to know that yet, right? All he needs to know is that he loves him. 

John tugs him up a little with a hissed 'shit' as soon as he notices how far Alex took him down, because, despite the rough and impulsive sides he has, the ones that get him into fights, both verbal and physical, he loves Alexander too. 

The thought makes Alexander's stomach turn more than John's dick hitting the back of his throat ever could; he chokes and immediately pulls back to cough, face turned to the side. Fuck, his eyes burn like hell.

“Hey, you okay? Dude, you can't just- just-” 

John bites his lip and looks at Alexander for another moment, before pulling him up and into his lap, holding him close. He sits on the edge of his bed and, while Alexander had previously been kneeling between his legs, this position feels more comfortable. 

“My knees hurt.” Is all that Alexander says. He doesn't look at John.

John nods and raises a hand to stroke Alex's cheek, watching him carefully. Alex mutters something in French, a habit of his, which John has grown to love. 

They sit like this for another moment, before John tucks himself back into his pyjamas and pulls Alexander yet a little closer. Both of them aren't entirely comfortable with their hard ons, but John doesn't want to push any boundaries. He just doesn't feel sex will do it for Alex right now, even if he might claim something else. 

Alexander will take sex whenever he can get it, John has learned that. He's kind of a slut. John doesn't mind. 

His head comes to rest on the red haired boy's shoulder, still holding him close as he closes his eyes. He inhales, exhales. Then,

“Think they'll notice if you sneak back in at, like, 4:30 tomorrow?” 

It's an offer. He knows what Alexander's answer will be and doesn't doubt him for even a second. He trusts Alex. 

“They'll do fuck all.”

They go back to sitting in silence, holding each other, John hunched over slightly in a position that just has to be bad for his back, Alexander with his fingers tracing soft patterns along John's back as he thinks about the way his knees hurt. 

His fucking knees hurt. He was kneeling on a soft, fuzzy carpet and his spoiled little knees hurt. The audacity-

John yawns and Alexander pulls back to look at him. He looks so awfully serious for a moment that John wants to ask what's wrong, but then he giggles, laughs, places his hands on John's cheeks and kisses him so softly that John's heart can only flutter. 

Maybe he's having an aneurysm, who knows?

_"Fucking carpet."_

Alexander laughs as he pulls away, staring at John with big, brown eyes that just beg for John's attention. John doesn't get what this is about, why Alex is talking about a carpet, but fuck it, if he's happy, he won't tell him to shut up. He just smiles back.

He's made it, that's what Alex feels like. Like he made it, finally, after spending so many nights on his knees in some alley, cold, hard ground beneath him, he's now spending his night with a fuzzy, sort carpet beneath his knees.

And still, his god damn knees _hurt all the same_.

It's like a fucked up metaphor for some damn game fate is playing with him. It reminds him of the American dream and of Gatsby and of the weird teacher they had had when they talked about it in school.

Nevertheless, Alexander made it. That's what he feels like. He can't believe he didn't notice it earlier. 

In all this time, it didn't occur to him that he had survived so much longer than he had initially aimed for, had hoped for, had expected. It feels like a million dollars, right then and there. 

Alexander's smile turns soft as he touched John's cheek, a tender expression of his affection. He kisses him briefly, then quietly says, “Let's go to sleep, my dear Laurens.”


End file.
